


I Really, Really Don't Care Where You Go

by HPfanatic12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Marcus is a single dad, Protective Marcus Flint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27712391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPfanatic12/pseuds/HPfanatic12
Summary: Flint's have been in Slytherin for generationsUntil suddenly....they weren't.
Relationships: Marcus Flint & Original Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

Marcus sensed there was something amiss with his daughter the second she’d stepped off the train, heading toward him with a strained smile and an emotion akin to fear flickering in her eyes. Instanciously, concern pooled in the pit of his stomach, a frown came onto his lips and he fought to keep those protective parental instincts at bay. 

She was returning from her first year of Hogwarts and, already a nonstop chatterbox-the likes of which she  _ most definitely  _ did not inherit from him-he’d expected her to lunge toward him, erupting with happiness as she would inform him in very fine detail, the events that took place during the months she’d been away. 

But that hadn’t happened at all. She came over as if her legs were moving despite her wishing they would not, struggling to plaster on a lovely facial expression and gave a half-hearted hug, pulling back quicker than to be considered normal for her. 

He’d frowned, opened his mouth to ask her if she was okay but decided against it, incase it was a matter she’d rather discuss in private instead of a busy train station. 

Now, that he thought about it, she hadn’t been fairly talkative  _ during  _ the school year and those excruciatingly long letters he’d assumed would come-didn’t. They were always short, with a hello, minimal talk about classes, and an  _ I love you _ at the end. 

He wondered if she made any friends, dreading to think that-because of  _ him _ -that some of the children had been warned not to associate with her. Amelia was the slightest bit sensitive, and while she wouldn’t make it known to many that she was upset, Marcus saw it. He could see the change in her eyes, they were always so expressive. 

Merlin, he didn’t know  _ how  _ to approach the subject. Comforting had never been a skill of his and had not gotten much better, admittedly, since the birth of his daughter. That was Adrian’s area of expertise; bloody Puff, if Marcus ever saw one. 

He was hoping, for both of their sake’s, that Amelia would have enough of whatever was bothering her and spill it as soon as they got home. It would be far easier than to wonder what was going on amidst the awfully thick silence, with her glancing at him every so often, then quickly lowering her gaze. 

However, even when they apparated inside, she refused to divulge anything. She’d barely said anything, only responding with one or two words if she was asked a question directly. It absolutely baffled Marcus and he really wasn’t sure  _ what  _ to do, having not encountered this sort of situation before.

He invited her to the living room to sit with him. That was their  _ thing _ , of which he’d missed while she was away. He would be busy looking at files-sometimes speaking to Adrian if he came over-and she would be there, silently reading a book or playing with her dolls when she’d been younger. It was a special time where they could be together; he’d thought, if anything, that would get her to spill. 

But she’d declined. 

She  _ declined _ and that really made him confused. She never said no to that. It didn’t make sense, first the ice cream and now this? 

She wanted to go upstairs to her room, to lay down for a bit. Marcus reasoned with himself that she must not have gotten much sleep the night before and that after a nap, she would feel better. So, he let her, watching as she trailed up the stairs glumly. 

~~ 

It was about four hours later when Marcus had enough. If she wasn’t going to say anything, he would have to get it out of her, himself. 

Her door was halfway open, he knocked on it anyway. “Can I come in?” he asked, softly. 

She was sitting on her bed, leaning back against the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest. It was when she met his eyes, that he noticed hers were red and puffy. She’d been crying and was now hurriedly trying to wipe away the evidence. “Sure,” she sniffled. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. Besides absolutely mucking at comforting, he was never particularly good at handling _ crying _ girls, but this was his daughter so he’d manage. “Is something wrong?” 

She bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m fine,” she denied, voice hoarse.

“Princess, you know you can tell me anything.” 

“I know.” But he wasn’t convinced.  _ She  _ didn’t look convinced. It was, quite frankly, a bit unsettling. “But I’m fine, really.” 

“You don’t look fine,” he reached over to brush away a stray tear with his thumb. Her lips trembled, looking as though she were going to burst into a fresh wave of tears. “You’re sure?’ he probed. 

She nodded, grasping the pillow tighter until her knuckles turned a sickly white. “Yeah.” 

“Alright,” he felt a bit blindsided, truth be told. Amelia didn’t have her overly cheerful mood dampened often and he idly wondered if something or  _ someone  _ had been the cause of it; or if it was just hormones-Merlin help him. Adrian had taken to teasing him on account of the fact that he was going to be raising a teenager soon, which meant plenty of hormones and  _ boys _ . 

He swore in his mind. If it  _ was  _ a boy that Amelia had taken a fancy to, only for him to end up breaking her heart, he might have to find out where he lived so they could have a little  _ chat _ . 

“What about school?” He tried again. “Hmm? Tell me, how’s that going?” 

And there it was. 

It most  _ definitely  _ had something to do with school. That look, it flashed over her face again and it made him want to gather her into his arms. And it stung, to know that she believed for some odd reason that she couldn’t speak to him about the matter. They’d been close for as long as he could remember, she just clung to him more than anyone else and he  _ loathed  _ to think of it being different, especially because of a reason that  _ he couldn’t figure out _ . 

“Amelia,” he made sure he had her attention, placing his hands on the side of her face so she would meet his eyes, so he could reiterate it to her, “you don’t have to tell me now, but remember that you  _ can  _ talk to me about anything. You know that.” 

It was nearly three minutes before she responded, shaking her head vigorously, a wrenching sob escaping her. “That’s not true,” she kept shaking her head, sniffling again, “you’re wrong.” 

“What?” he was genuinely confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She picked at a loose strand from her pillow as he wiped away a tear that rolled down her cheek. “You’re going to be mad,” she whispered. 

“No, I won’t,” he promised, though he did wonder, warily, what she’d done-if anything. 

“You mean it?” And oh  _ Merlin  _ she sounded so upset, so childlike. 

“Have I ever broken a promise to you, before?” he raised his eyebrows. 

“No,” she eventually conceded. 

“Alright, then. Now what is it that’s got you so worked up?” 

She glanced over at him, her eyes darting back down. 

“Remember what grandfather said about Flints being in Slytherin for generations?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“And that it was really important because you’d be a disgrace if you weren’t?” 

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “But I don’t understand what-” 

Oh. 

_ Oh _ . 

He trailed off, observing how she visibly stiffened, as if terrified of his reaction. 

“You didn’t get into Slytherin...did you?” 

Her breathing quickened and the tears were brimming in the corner of her eyes. “No,” she admitted, shame-faced. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” 

Marcus pulled his daughter into his arms, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She had her face buried in his chest, weeping. He closed his eyes, cursing his dad to hell and back for the damage he’d done. 

It all made sense now; the lack of letters, her desolate demeanor and avoidance of talking about her house and friends. He’d been thinking along the lines of a bully or becoming distracted by a boy or even just her growing up and not wanting to be as close anymore. But that wasn’t it at all. 

She’d been  _ afraid _ . 

Scared out of her wits that he would become angry with her, perhaps even disherit her like his Father said they would have done to  _ him  _ if he hadn’t gone to Slytherin. But he never thought she would take any of that to heart, otherwise he would have put a stop to all that nonsense. He’d let it go on, rolling his eyes when his Father’s head was turned, and thinking no more of it. 

He hadn’t known that his daughter was absorbing all that, filling into her head and taking that as a warning that, he, too, would react that way. 

And  _ bloody hell  _ he didn’t want to let her go now, not when she’d been terrified for the whole bloody year! 

“I’m sorry,” her voice was muffled, her face not yet lifted. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry!” 

She was slowly becoming more and more frantic, he reckoned, by him not saying anything. He only squeezed her gently, kissing the top of her head. “Shh,” he murmured. “It’s alright, Princess. No need to get so upset.” 

She didn’t loosen her grip any, her hands had grabbed a fistful of his shirt and trying to pry it out from her was surprisingly difficult. 

Where was Adrian when he needed him? He sighed. He would only muck this up, it would be better if- 

He paused. That sort of excuse making might have worked for his father, albeit a different kind of excuse making-his father wouldn’t have cared if he hurt his son’s feelings, not even if his life depended on it-but he’d told himself he would be different. He wouldn’t put his daughter through what his father had done to him. 

Once the war was over, he’d decided he wasn’t going to follow in his father’s footsteps and that also meant the blood purity nonsense that had been instilled into him from as far back as he could remember.

He wouldn’t  _ be _ the same father that Anthony Flint had been to him. 

“I don’t care what house you got into, Love. I really don’t,” he spoke earnestly. “I know your grandfather put all kinds of nonsense into your head but I want you to listen to me: I never cared about you being in Slytherin or not and I’m not about to make a fuss because you didn’t get in. It’s not important to me and I’m so sorry that you thought it was.” 

She shifted, moving her face out of his chest but her head was laying on it, still grasping his shirt as if holding for dear life. “Really?” There was a tinge of hopefulness in her voice. 

“Really,” he confirmed. “Lots of us had to go into Slytherin-me, your Uncle Adrian and Uncle Terrence. We didn’t have a choice. Your grandfather was right about one thing; he would have disowned me if I went anywhere else.” 

He hid back a snort at imagining his father getting a letter, stating that his son-his only heir-had been put somewhere else. The man would have had early heart failure. 

Which, Marcus, unabashedly, would have loved to hear. 

“I thought you wouldn’t love me anymore,” Amelia said, shakily. “Prunella Parkinson said I shouldn’t bother going home because you wouldn’t let once you found out.” 

“That isn’t true,” Marcus kept his anger in check, when all he really wanted to do was send a rather unpleasant letter to Parkinson to keep her devil spawn away from his daughter. “She’s just trying to get a rise out of you, don’t let her. Tell a teacher, if you must.” 

She nodded against him. 

“And Amelia.” She peered up at him. “Don’t ever think I won’t love you,” he kissed her forehead. “There’s nothing that you could ever do to make that happen.” 

“I love you, too, Daddy,” she said with a watery smile. 

The tension had slowly left her shoulders, but he still didn’t let her go. He maneuvered them around so he was leaning against the headboard with her snuggled up against him. He wasn’t sure how many more years of this he would get, so he’d treasure all these sweet little moments for now. 

“So,” he said after a couple minutes of silence. “What house did you get into?” 

She bit her lip. “Gryffindor.”

Even after that, she was still anticipating on him overreacting, creating some sort of scene and storming out of the room, leaving her to cry. He continued to run his fingers with his free hand through her hair. “And have you made any friends in your house?” 

“Yes,” she said with a bit of caution. “Lydia Wood and Lucy Weasley. They’re in my dorm.” 

Oh, the bloody  _ irony.  _

“Really?” he said, interestedly. 

“Yes,” she repeated. “Lydia’s dad likes quidditch like you do. But Lydia says he’s kind of obsessed.” 

That was a severe understatement but Marcus didn’t interrupt. 

“Mr. Weasley is really nice. He said I could come over anytime. So did Mr. Wood.” 

_ That  _ Marcus wasn’t so sure about. He was thoroughly glad that, despite the lingering issues that came from having his name, she was able to make friends; but he didn’t know if allowing her to be within the presence of Wood and whichever Weasley Lucy belonged to, was worth it. 

“That’s great, Princess,” he managed to say. “Do you know who Lucy’s dad is?” 

She thought for a second. “I dunno, but he works at the Ministry.” 

That would be Percy Weasley; the stuck up Head-Boy that had a permanent stick up his bum. Back in his school days, Marcus had an equally distributed dislike for both Wood and Weasley. 

“Ah,” was all he said. 

“Can I go, Daddy? Please?” 

He wanted to groan. Parenthood had made him so bloody soft. 

“I...I don’t see why not.” 

It wasn’t exactly the circumstances that he ever thought he’d find himself in but if it would make his daughter happy, he’d deal with Wood and Weasley as much as he needed to. 

Amelia beamed. She sat up somewhat, throwing her arms around his neck. 

His parents wouldn’t take the news well; his father especially. And he knew now that he would be interacting with more Gryffindors than ever before and surely along the line,  _ someone  _ would say something because it wasn’t everyday that a Flint went to a different house-let alone Gryffindor. 

But Marcus would be ready to tackle them all. 

And the people of Diagon Alley would be thrown into a state of shock when they noticed that  _ Marcus Flint _ was wearing a red and gold striped scarf in support of his daughter. 


	2. Chapter 2

Marcus was dreading Saturday. 

He settled Amelia’s nerves quickly enough and she hopped off the bed to send the Weasley girl a letter to inform her that he’d agreed to let her go. She received a response later that night; Amelia was welcome to come over that weekend when Weasley’s dad had a day off. 

Marcus refrained from writing to the girl’s father himself. He had the slightest inkling that it more so had to do with the fact that it was  _ his  _ daughter and Weasley feared she’d do something destructive to his  _ precious  _ home. 

Well,  _ clearly  _ Weasley didn’t know his daughter at all. Amelia was the farthest thing to how Marcus had behaved when he was her age. Adrian and Terrance both had remarked that if it wasn’t for both of them being present at Amelia’s birth, they wouldn’t have thought she was his kid at all. 

Now that he gave more thought to it, it was a wonder that she hadn’t landed in Hufflepuff. 

But he digressed. 

As his daughter chattered nonsensically about her friends and how he would  _ really like them _ , Marcus only half-way listened, nodding at appropriate times to convey the opposite. 

He was dreading this whole bloody thing. Why couldn’t she have found someone else’s children to befriend? Why did it have to be  _ them _ ? 

It was punishment, it must have been, for all of his misdeeds he’d done in his youth. There was simply no reasonable explanation why she had to be in what had been the enemy house and latch herself on to the children of the two blokes he hadn’t thought about in years. 

_ “What’s his problem?” Terrance gestured toward Marcus with a jerk of his thumb.  _

_ He may or may not have been trying to break the bottle of firewhiskey they were drinking from with his glare.  _

_ Adrian smirked. “He’s cranky about having to spend the day with Wood and Weasley.”  _

_ Terrance hadn’t heard about that little bit of information. He’d been away on a trip, business related and they were celebrating the success of it by all three of them coming over to Marcus’ flat. The former Slytherin nearly spit out his whiskey at the mention of their former classmates. “What’re doing that for?”  _

_ “Amelia,” Adrian answered for him, still in the belief that the whole thing was hilarious.  _

_ Right, hilarious. Just what he wanted, an entire afternoon with the two people he despised the most and their wives. Life couldn’t get any better.  _

_ “You’re kidding.”  _

_ “Ahh, but no. Amelia’s friends with Wood and Weasley’s daughters. She’s in Gryffindor, didn’t you hear?”  _

_ “When would I have? S’not like you lot sent me loads of letters,” Terrance pointed out, grumpily.  _

_ “Oi, quit pouting ‘bout it,” Adrian snickered.  _

_ Terrance made a rude gesture. “Well,” he continued, after absorbing that piece of information. “That’s certainly something, isn’t it? Imagine, Flint’s daughter is a lion. How’d that happen, anyway? Wasn’t because of Clara, that’s for sure.”  _

_ At the mention of his ex wife, Marcus was brought out of his reverie. “As if I know,” he grumbled. He leaned back into his chair, his scowl returning.  _

_ “Why don’t you just cancel?” Terrance took a hearty sip and set the goblet back down. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”  _

_ “Or let her go by herself?” Adrian suggested. “C’mon, she’s old enough. At eleven, we were doing much worse.”  _

_ He yelped when Marcus gave him a swift kick.  _

_ “Oi!”  _

_ “I’m not canceling  _ **_or_ ** _ letting her go there without me,” Marcus didn’t trust Wood or Weasley. Not one bit. Not with his owl, let alone his child.  _

_ “Then quit your sulking,” Adrian rolled at his eyes. “Honestly...”  _

Marcus told himself that he would be civil, if only for the sake of Amelia. He wasn’t going to drag her through anything unnecessary because of some bloody rivalry from his youth. 

And if Wood was unable to contain himself, then Marcus might just let him have. 

_ “Now, now, behave,” Adrian grinned, having dropped by that morning.  _

_ “I will if they do,” Marcus grumbled.  _

_ “Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself,” Adrian nudged him teasingly.  _

~~ 

It was incredibly awkward. 

None of them were willingly speaking. That was the last thing he wanted; meaningless conversation for the sake of it. He’d dreaded it since Amelia first asked him and he’d gone to bed, hoping that it was all just a terrible dream and he was going to awake and he could put it all behind him. 

No such luck. 

They ended up going on a Saturday. It was annoyingly sunny, the opposite of Marcus’ inner mood. Amelia had been pestering him  _ all  _ morning, bouncing and hopping around the house, asking repeatedly about when they would be leaving. He was patient, answering all of her questions as they came. He loved her, he did, he’d do just about anything for her, but  _ merlin _ , she could talk far too long without taking a deep breath. 

He apparated them both just outside of Weasley’s home. It was on the smaller side, neither too large or too cramped. The perfect balance in between and just how Marcus would have pictured Weasley living in. The outside was obnoxiously neat; the grass wasn’t long, weeds were trimmed and the flowers that were planted only added to the overall appearance. 

Weasley had met them at the door. Honestly, the man had hardly changed at all, even wore those same glasses that Marcus and some others had previously snidely commented on. Admittedly, Marcus had tensed up upon catching sight of the red-head, anticipating on a change of expression or tone that he  _ didn’t  _ want to happen around his daughter. Those sort of things had occurred already, leaving Amelia puzzled and him having to hastily come up with a reasonable sounding excuse that didn’t include his previous acceptance for the dark arts. 

Weasley never did any of that, though. He was pleasant enough, welcoming them into his home with an actual smile that Marcus privately felt was directed more towards Amelia than him. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Amelia,” Weasley had said, kindly. “Lucy’s told me all about you in her letters.” He then told her that Lucy and Wood’s daughter were upstairs and that there was also some cookies and pumpkin juice up there as well, if she’d like some. 

Amelia beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley!” 

Marcus felt betrayed seconds later when she zoomed up the steps, without so much as a glance behind her, leaving him  _ all alone  _ with Weasley. 

Neither of them spoke. Marcus’ gaze wandered around the general vicinity. Weasley rubbed the back of his neck, looking as though he were trying to come up with something to say. 

“Molly,” he said, suddenly and it was only then that Marcus took notice of a girl in the background. She was the spitting image of Weasley, right down to the glasses. She must have been older then Amelia, if by a couple years. “Go upstairs and do your home.” 

“I already did it,” the girl--whom he was referring to as Weasley Jr in his mind--said in a bored tone, flipping idly through a quidditch magazine. 

“Well, go up there anyway,” Weasley sighed. 

“Why? Are you gonna fight him?” Weasley Jr was eager to know. “I heard what you said to Uncle George. So, are you? Unless he’s gonna fight  _ you _ .” 

“ _ Go upstairs _ ,” Weasley said, firmly, pointing in that direction. 

Weasley Je stood up, obeying. “Fine, but if you do, Uncle Oliver will tell me all the details.” Marcus caught one last glimpse of red hair before she disappeared. 

Now it really  _ was  _ just the two of them. 

“Oliver’s in here,” Weasley said after he cleared his throat, gesturing for Marcus to follow him into the dining room. 

Which brought them to now. 

It was  _ extremely  _ awkward. 

The three of them sat around the round table, with Marcus mainly on a side of his own. Their tea had gone stone cold. The cups that Weasley sat down in the beginning. He hadn’t taken a single drink. Not one of them had said a word to each other and it didn’t appear as if any of them  _ wanted  _ to. Weasley was tracing a finger over the rim of his cup, keeping his eyes downward. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the table occupants. Marcus and Wood were glaring aggressively at each other,  _ just daring  _ for the other to say something. 

“This is nice,” Weasley said, abruptly, causing Marcus and Wood to turn their glare onto  _ him _ . 

“Can’t believe you let him come here,” Wood muttered with a scowl. 

“Can’t believe  _ you  _ came,” Marcus narrowed his eyes. 

“Percy made me- _ ow _ !” 

Evidently, Weasley had stomped on Wood’s foot. 

“Will you two stop it!” Weasley scolded, giving both of them a scathing look. “Godric, you’re acting like children.” 

“He started it!” Marcus and Wood said simultaneously, then glared at one another again. 

“I don’t care,” Weasley lowered his volume, glancing toward the end of the room where the staircase was around the corner. “I don’t want the kids to hear. Now get yourselves together and act like adults, for Merlin’s sake.” 

Begrudgingly, Wood and Marcus crossed their arms, mumbling under their breath. 

They lapsed into silence again. 

They could hear the thudding that was going on above them from the girls, the rambunctious laughter and excited yelling. Marcus wondered how much longer they had to stay before he could use the excuse that they were quite busy and needed to be elsewhere. 

And if it could be within the next couple of minutes. 

“So,” Weasley was talking again. Marcus wished he wouldn’t. 

“So, what?” Marcus said, snippily. 

“Amelia’s a very pretty girl,” Weasley complimented with a bit of a smile. Marcus arched an eyebrow. “She’s certainly taken after you.” 

“Oh, erm, thanks,” Marcus said, gruffly. 

He could only thank  _ Merlin, Morgana  _ and  _ Fay  _ that she hadn’t inherited his bad teeth. Since the war ended, he’d gotten them fixed so they weren’t  _ as  _ bad; but he was immensely relieved that she wouldn’t have to go through the social humiliation that he suffered. 

Wood snorted and  _ immediately  _ Marcus’ head snapped in his direction. 

“ _ What _ ?” 

If that bugger said  _ one word  _ about Amelia, he was going to get snapped in half.

“Nothin,” Wood snickered, causing Weasley to sigh. “Just funny how she’s nothin’ like you, is all. She’s too  _ nice _ . You sure she’s yours?” 

“Oliver,” Weasley admonished. “Ignore him,” he said to Marcus. 

“Oh, come on, Perce. Just having a little fun. Just like the old days, eh, Flint?” 

Wood was goading him. Trying to instigate an argument all so he could prove that Marcus hadn’t changed at all since their Hogwarts days and had all the reason to keep his daughter away from Amelia. Now, much as that outcome would be preferred, Marcus  _ did not  _ want to have to explain to her why her new friend wasn’t allowed to be around her anymore. 

Wood was his problem. It shouldn’t have to fall on her as well. 

So, he did what any good parent would have done. With great reluctance, too. 

“Right,” he agreed, much to their surprise. “Just like the old days.” 

Weasley looked relieved. 

Wood was suspicious. 

“And I must say,” Weasley chimed in, probably before Wood could say anything, “it is hard to believe that it’s been, what, eighteen years since we graduated.” 

“It’s really somethin’ that some of us graduated at  _ all _ ,” Wood was trying to seem nonchalant but Marcus saw right through it. He  _ knew  _ who that remark was aimed at. 

Well, two could play at that game. 

“And somehow you managed, didn’t you, Wood?’ Marcus said, mockingly. 

Wood’s eyes hardened. “Tell me, Flint, how did it feel to be the oldest Hogwarts student in--how long did you say it was, Perce?” 

Weasley hastily swallowed the gulp of tea he’d taken. “It’s really not important...” 

“Perhaps not,” Wood conceded, but apparently, he still wasn’t done. “But I’m just trying to understand, Flint, here. Isn’t that what you wanted, Percy? For us to  _ understand  _ each other.” 

“Not this way,” Weasley buried his face in his hands. 

“Oh, cut the bollocks, Wood,” Marcus snarled. “We both know you don’t want me here.” 

“Well look at that,” Wood drawled. “I suppose even big brutes like yourself get a right answer every once and a while. Too bad it took you another year to get enough right to leave, eh?” 

“There’s no need to rub that in his face,” Weasley said, disapprovingly. 

“You mean like he rubbed Slytherin’s wins in our faces?” Wood shot back. 

“That doesn’t-” 

Marcus had more than enough of that nonsense. “You mean like how you rubbed it in  _ our  _ faces when Gryffindor won in Potter’s first year  _ after  _ Dumbledore already declared us the winners of the House Cup? Does that ring a bell, Wood?” 

“We won fair and square,” Wood argued. “We got the points!” 

“ _ After  _ Dumbledore gave them to you lot last minute! And you still refuse to acknowledge that he favored you all.” 

“Like Snape didn’t? Face it, Flint, you lot were favored more. Who got away with everything?  _ Who  _ constantly cheated and took the pitch away from us?” 

“Oh,  _ grow up _ , Wood.” 

“ _Volume_ ,” Weasley stressed. 

He was ignored. 

“Me?” Wood scoffed, his hands on the edge of the table, gripping it. “What about you?” 

“I’m not the one that won’t shut up,” Marcus hissed. 

“I wish you would!” 

“ _ I wish  _ we never came!” Marcus snapped. “Obviously you haven’t let go of anything and I’m not gonna let my kid be around any of this!” 

“Shouldn’t I be saying that about  _ your  _ kid?” Wood said, snorting. “Still can’t believe any spawn of yours got into Gryffindor.” 

“Don’t you say a  _ word  _ about my daughter!” 

“I’ll say whatever I bloody want!” Wood jumped to his feet, face turning a shade of scarlet. 

“Oliver, sit down!” Weasley grabbed him, trying to shove him down. 

“I don’t have to take this,” Marcus snapped again. “Especially not from the likes of you!” 

“Both of you, stop it!” Weasley brandished his wand, and in a split second, Marcus and Wood were unable to speak a sound. “What’s the matter with you both? Have you no shame? Our children are upstairs, if you’ve both forgotten and I’m sure they’ve heard enough of your nonsense. Now, we’re going to have a pleasant afternoon if it  _ kills us _ . Do you both understand?” 

The order came out in a hiss. 

Marcus scowled. 

Wood was trying to convey something from his facial expression and somehow, Weasley understood it. 

“Oliver  _ Xavier  _ Wood, we talked about this!” 

Marcus would’ve snickered at the use of Wood’s full name if he could. And if he wasn’t still greatly ticked off. 

Wood rolled his eyes, sighing--a silent one, but a sigh nevertheless--, gesturing in a  _ fine _ sort of way.

“You both better listen. I’ll take off the spell, but I swear if either of you say  _ one more thing _ , you will regret it,” Weasley threatened. 

They both acknowledged it. 

Not that they wanted to. 

“Don’t have to use my full name like that,” Wood muttered, grumpily as they sat back down. “Worse than my mother, you are, Perce.” 

Marcus sulked. He wanted to leave. Only been there for less than half an hour and the temptation to throttle Wood was overwhelming. Could they go yet? 

“I hope this isn’t interfering with your afternoon,” Weasley was the first to break the silence. Marcus wanted to say it was. “I told Lucy it was alright for Lydia and Amelia to be over for the entire afternoon or at least until you wish to leave.” 

Which he would preferred to be now.

“No,” Marcus grumbled. “S’fine.” 

“That’s good,” Weasley offered, ultimately falling back into silence. He then added, because for some reason believed that talking was going to help, “So, Flint-- _ Marcus _ ,” Weasley caught himself and corrected his wording. “What are you up to now?” 

“Not playing quidditch, that’s for sure,” Wood muttered under his breath, far too smug for Marcus’ liking. 

Weasley looked at him, warningly. 

Marcus shrugged. He hadn’t expected any questions pertaining to his life. Not any real interest anyway. “Just helping Adrian with his law firm.” 

“Pucey?” Weasley clarified and Marcus nodded curtly. The red-headed man leaned back into his chair, thoughtfully. “Hmm. I don’t think I remember him from Hogwarts.” 

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t talk much.” It was only half of a lie. Adrian could be a chatterbox if he wanted to be, but that was only around those that he trusted--of whom seemed to be Marcus and Terrance--; otherwise, he stayed quiet, keen on observing and listening. 

“Is it faring well?” 

At Marcus’ blank stare, Weasley elaborated. “The law firm. Is it doing well?” 

“Oh. Erm, yeah.” 

“That’s splendid,” Weasley smiled. “Is it that one on the edge of Diagon Alley? I’ve heard very good things about it.” 

Marcus squirmed in his chair. “Right.” He should say something back, shouldn’t he? A pleasantry of some sorts. “You still at the Ministry?” 

“Oh, yes. Yes. Head of Transportation now.” 

Figures. People like Weasley got those kind of positions. “That’s nice,” Marcus said, lamely. “Erm, good for you.” 

Wood was still sitting there like a pouting child, arms crossed and unpleasant expression on his face. “Oliver’s playing quidditch,” Weasley spoke on behalf of Wood, once it became apparently that he was not going to contribute to the conversation. “Not that it’s much of a surprise.” His attempt at a joke was ruined by how neither men got a chuckle out of it. 

He still wanted to leave. 

Even though a little voice was telling him otherwise. 

_ Do it for Amelia  _

_ Do it for Amelia  _

_ Do it for Amelia  _

“Say, Wood?” he forced it out after a few seconds of silence. 

Wood arched his eyebrows. Looking both curious and suspicious. 

“What team you playing for?” 

The question felt like acid in his mouth. Amelia was  _ so  _ lucky he cared....

Weasley looked like he’d brightened up, thrilled that Marcus was making an effort.

“Puddlemere United,” Wood said, eventually after Weasley nudged him. 

“Decent team,” Marcus shrugged. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wood asked, defensively. 

Beside him, Weasley groaned. 

“Nothing,” Marcus put up his hands in surrender. “I just meant they’re alright.” 

“You know a team that’s better?” Wood demanded. 

“The Arrows. Haven’t had a bad game this season so far.”

Wood thought it over momentarily. “I suppose not,” he said, begrugingly. “But their seeker, McClaire, is a bugger.” 

“You’ve met him?” Marcus was surprised. 

“Briefly,” Wood was obviously recalling the encounter with distaste. “Biggest tosser I’ve ever seen. Had an absolute  _ meltdown  _ when we had to practice in the rain. Prissy bloke didn’t wanna get his hair wet.” He rolled his eyes again with a bit of a scoff. 

“You’re kidding?” Marcus snorted at the image. 

“Not at all. Surprised Davidson--our manager--didn’t break him in half. He made everyone wait until he put enough charms on his hair to repel the water.” 

“Merlin’s Beard, what an idiot.” 

“I know!” 

It was bizzare, exchanging words with Wood without fists being thrown into the mix. And he was, much as he almost hated to say, enjoying himself. They had fun criticizing McClaire for being such a wuss, then moved on to discussing which teams would most  _ definitely  _ not be going to the Cup this year. Weasley chimed in on that one, arguing against Wood for a good five minutes about which team was better suited. 

Their tea laid forgotten. None of them noticed. 

When their talk of quidditch died down, Marcus cleared his throat. “Suppose I ought to thank you, Weasley, for letting Amelia come.” 

Weasley smiled warmly. “Of course. It’s no trouble. I must say I’m very happy you both were able to come.  _ Lucy _ was hoping Amelia would get to come as well and I’m quite happy the girls are friends. Lucy’s a bit quiet and I’ve been worried that she’d get left behind. Amelia seems taken with her and Lydia and I’m very grateful for that.” 

Despite how he was still feeling a bit sour with what Wood had said earlier, even with them being able to have an actual conversation, it did help lessen it somewhat. He’d heard a somewhat similar version from his daughter; that Lucy hadn’t talked much the night they were sorted except for a few words to Wood’s daughter and eventually she’d been able to get Lucy to open up.    
At that time, he’d been too caught up in  _ who’s  _ daughter she’d helped to feel proud of her for it. 

“You should feel very proud of her,” Weasley told him. 

“Yeah,” Wood seemed reluctant to add, “Lyd’s very happy, too.” 

Marcus did the only thing that came to his mind; he took a drink of his cold tea. 

“Did you think this would happen?” Wood said, snorting. “Our daughters becoming friends?” 

The three of them grumbled. 

“I suppose it was bound to occur,” Weasley said, carefully. “We just ought to be thankful that no one has a son for one of them to marry.” 

If that was going on, Marcus would have put his foot  _ way _ down. 

“Don’t have to say it out loud like that,” Wood made a face. 

Weasley rolled his eyes. 

“This doesn’t mean I want to be friends with you two,” Marcus made that point clear. 

“Doesn’t mean we’d  _ want  _ to be with you,” Wood agreed. 

“But we’re open to the idea,” Weasley countered. “Anything to ensure that nothing will get in between of our kids’ friendship.” 

“We can be civil,” Marcus compromised. 

“Doesn’t mean we have to like each other,” Wood said. “Because I don’t.” 

He was looking right at Marcus. 

“Well, I don’t like you either, Wood,” he retorted. 

“Now that we’re in agreement,” Weasley said, dryly. “Really, you two. We need to be a better example. We can’t do that if we’re---if  _ you two  _ are constantly bickering. The kids shouldn’t be hearing this and  _ I  _ refuse to put up with it. Put your differences aside and if not for the fact that you’re almost forty, do it for your girls.” 

He was right. Marcus would have rather to gouge his eyes out with rusty nails than to say it but he was right. “I suppose I can pretend to tolerate you,” he muttered to Wood. 

“Good,” Wood nodded. 

“ _ Oliver _ ,” Weasley glared. 

“Sorry, sorry. I suppose I can pretend to tolerate you, too.” 

“Uncross your fingers!” 

“Fine, fine,” Wood looked at Marcus now. “And I’m sorry for what I said about your daughter. It was out of line.” 

“And I should apologize, too,” Weasley piped up. “I wrongly assumed that Amelia was going to be just like you had been at school and I shouldn’t of. I never should’ve let that predetermine what your child was going to be like. I hope you can forgive me. I have to say, I wasn’t particularly thrilled to hear that she was in the same house as Lucy.” 

“Nor was I,” Wood blew out a puff of air from his lips. 

Marcus didn’t know what to say. 

“Weasley, Wood, I think I ought to...well, you know, erm-” 

“You don’t have to say it,” Weasley told him, gently. 

“He doesn’t?” Wood raised his eyebrows. 

“No,” Weasley glared. “He doesn’t.” 

“I do,” Marcus sighed. “Just let me get it out, won’t you? Look, I know you probably didn’t want me here.” 

“Not really,” Wood mumbled. 

“ _ Oliver _ ,” Weasley nudged him with a sharp elbow to his side.    
“What? I’m being honest.” 

“I didn’t really want to come either,” Marcus continued. “I didn’t want to see either of you. I only did it for Amelia.” 

Neither of them said a word. 

“I think we should start over,” Weasley suggested. 

There was a hum of agreement. 

“So, Marcus,” Weasley said. “You must have been a bit surprised at hearing that Amelia was in Gryffindor.” 

“How’d that even happen?” Wood wondered aloud. 

Marcus ran a hand through his short hair, sighing. “As if I know. I didn’t even find out until a few days ago.” 

Wood and Weasley looked confused. 

“What?” 

“She didn’t tell me. She thought I’d disown her because she wasn’t in Slytherin,” he hated to say it. Hated how it kept bringing back the reminder of how she’d felt for all those months she’d been away. How it was probably reinforcing the idea in Wood and Weasley’s--or just Wood’s--mind that he was a terrible father. 

“Where did she get that idea from?” Weasley frowned.

“My father,” he muttered, feeling uncomfortable. “He’s always spouting off that blood purity nonsense. I didn’t know she’d been listening.” 

“They’re always listening when we don’t think they are, or when we want them to,” Weasley shook his head. 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Wood said. Then he shrugged. “Aye, well, at least she knows the truth know. Right?” 

“I suppose,” Marcus still didn’t feel right about the whole thing. 

“Oliver is right--which I don’t get to say very often--” Weasley dodged a punch to the shoulder by Wood. “Whatever you and your wife told her, it obviously worked. She doesn’t look upset to me.” 

Wife. 

_ Wife _ .

Did they not read the  _ Prophet  _ anymore? Or were they merely trying to be polite, feigning ignorance until he corrected them? He thought they should have known. Weasley worked at the Ministry, surely he would have heard something. 

Marcus found sudden interest in his tea cup. “My ex wife’s in Azkaban,” he mumbled. “It’s just me raising Amelia.” 

“Oh.” they both were surprised, exchanging a glance between them that conveyed what they were thinking, not that he understood any of it. 

“Well, that’s quite unfortunate,” Weasley said, carefully. “I’m sorry to hear that, Marcus.” 

He shrugged. It’d been a long time since he’d cared about what happened to Clara. Honestly, for Amelia’s sake, it was  _ best  _ that she was out of her life. He’d rather take on single parenthood and all of its stress than for Clara to have had  _ any  _ influence on their daughter. “S’alright. For the best, really.” 

“May I ask when that happened?” Weasley asked, delicately. 

“Amelia was three,” he sighed. “Merlin, I was scared. I didn’t know what I was doing  _ with  _ her around, let alone without her, Although, I was practically doing everything anyway. Guess that just made it official.” 

“What’d she do?” Wood apparently resist asking. Weasley shot him a  _ look _ , nudging him rather harshly. 

“ _ Oliver _ !” 

“It’s alright, Weasley,” Marcus waved a hand lazily. Not much reason to hide it, was there? To Wood, he said with attempted nonchalance, “She killed a group of muggle kids during the war and was found guilty for it.” 

“Oh,” was all Wood could say. 

Articulate as always, he was.

“Is it hard--raising Amelia by yourself?” The question came from Weasley. 

  
_ “Daddy!”  _

_ Marcus was sitting through positively boring dinner with his parents. His father was drawling on about something that he’d long ago tuned out. After she’d finished eating, he’d sent Amelia out to splash in the puddles, hopefully to keep her occupied until his parents left.  _

_ But then, she’d burst in the room and he found her not only soaked but covered in mud, holding onto a handful of yellow dandelions that she presented to him by practically shoving into his face.  _

_ Unaware of the rigid face of her grandfather and horrified look of her grandmother, Amelia beamed up at him. “I picked these for you!”  _

_ Behind her, there were footprints from the mud she’d tracked in. He took them. “Thank you, Princess,” he ruffled her hair and she giggled.  _

He got an earful for that one. 

Or that other time... 

_ They’d been visiting Flint Manor; his parents insisted they come for some reason or another. Marcus had wanted to avoid going at all costs, anticipating on using work as an excuse but that had gone down the drain when they cornered Adrian to make sure that he’d get time off.  _

_ Curse them.  _

_ And so, instead of relaxing in his own home where he’d much rather be, Marcus was in his father’s study and only half-heartedly listening. That was a recurring theme. They--or should he say his father--were in the middle of a conversation when his mother burst into the room.  _

_ “Marcus, you should see what your daughter is doing!”  _

_ As it turned out, Amelia believed that the house elves must have bored, so she gathered them all up outside and had been trying to teach them a song.  _

_ His parents had not been amused.  _

“At times,” he said, lightly. 

“I know how that is,” Weasley shook his head. “My ex wife, Audrey, left the girls and I shortly after Lucy was born. I didn’t know  _ what  _ to do or where to begin with anything.” 

So, Weasley was a single dad as well, Marcus noted. 

Wood grinned. “Aye, but thank Merlin you had to help, eh?” 

Weasley rolled his eyes. “Before or after you set my kitchen on fire?” 

Marcus snorted. “How’d you manage that?” 

“I  _ did not  _ set it on fire,” Wood defended himself. “I just....

“Set it ablaze?” Weasley said, dryly. 

“ _ No _ ,” Wood scowled. 

“And again, how did you manage that?” Marcus raised his eyebrows. 

“He had difficulty operating the microwave,” Weasley told him. 

“Micro-what?” Marcus blinked. 

“Muggle device,” Weasley explained. “Heats up food.” 

“Right,” Marcus said, slowly. 

“Anyway, he was trying to heat up some formula for Lucy and he put it on too long. Honestly, Oliver, you  _ grew up  _ with one of those. I didn’t and I understand it better than you.” 

Wood mumbled something under his breath. 

“I’m amazed your kid is still in one piece, Wood.” 

He was given a rude gesture in response. 

“Your wife must trust you, for whatever reason.” 

A look of pain crossed Wood’s face Marcus wasn’t used to seeing his rival--err,  _ former  _ rival--in that kind of pain. Wood looked pretty vulnerable like that. 

“Wood?” 

“My wife,” Wood was speaking with some hesitancy. “She....she died when Lydia was born. Doctor said she was bleeding internally or something. They didn’t find it ‘till it was too late.” 

“I’m sorry, Wood,” Marcus said, quietly and slightly out of his comfort zone. That was the last thing he expected to hear. Then, to lighten up the somber mood he’d created, he said, “Guess we’re all raising our kids by ourselves, huh?” 

“Somedays, I’m not sure how,” Weasley joked. 

“Hear, hear,” Wood chuckled, a smile coming onto his face. “I feel for yeh, Perce.  _ Two  _ girls. Don’t know how you do it.” 

“Lots of help,” Weasley said, honestly. “Somedays, it’s a struggle, I tell you. Molly doesn’t make it easy.” 

Marcus remembered seeing Molly studying him from afar. 

Wood laughed suddenly. “Don’t you remember when Molly beat up McLaggen’s daughter?” 

Weasley groaned and Marcus’ eyebrows flew up to his hairline. 

“Cormic McLaggen?” 

“The very same,” Wood confirmed. “Should of seen it, Flint. McLaggen’s daughter was being a little snot--oh, don’t look at me like that, Perce, she was and you know it--and Molly just  _ gave it to her _ .”

Wood was comically enthusiastic. Weasley--not so much. 

“You shouldn’t be talking about someone’s child like that,” Weasley argued. 

“Oh, relax and take the knot out of your panties.” 

Marcus snickered. 

Weasley glared. 

“Honestly, Oliver. Have you no shame?” 

“It doesn’t work when my Ma says that to me and it sure doesn’t when you say it,” Wood told him, matter-of-factly. 

Weasley shook his head. “You’re hopeless.” 

Wood shrugged, shifting his position in the chair. “Maybe. Say, you got anymore cookies? I’m a bit hungry.” 

“They’re for the kids.  _ Not  _ you.” 

“But I like chocolate chip, too!” 

“Well, too  _ bad _ !” 

“You two always do that?” Marcus spoke over their bickering. 

“What?” they glanced at him blankly. 

“Fight like a married couple?” 

They stared at him incredulously. 

“What about you and Oliver?” Weasley shot back. “I seem to rememember you two going at it more than once on the pitch.” 

“He started it,” Wood pointed an accusatory finger at Marcus. 

Weasley was not impressed with his childishness. “You  _ both  _ started it.” 

“He shouldn’t of taken our pitch!” 

“That was  _ how  _ many years ago?” 

“The point still stands,” Wood said, stubbornly. 

“Would you like more tea?” Weasley asked Marcus, directly. Probably to be hospitable. Maybe to avoid a fight between Marcus and Wood. Either were plausible. 

“No thanks,” he hadn’t finished what was in his mug now. “So, erm, Weasley?” 

“Yes?” 

“How old is your oldest?” he said, lamely. It was a dumb question. But he was trying to make an effort. 

Weasley brightened up with a proud parental gleam in his eyes. Marcus could attest to that feeling. He always felt a sense of pride in talking about Amelia. Her birth had been the best day of his life, surpassing the day he’d ridden his first broom. His world had changed for the better, giving him a whole new meaning.“Thirteen. She’s growing up faster than I’d like.” 

“Just wait until she starts liking the boys,” Wood said, snickering. 

Weasley didn’t seem pleased by that. In fact, he was grimacing.  _ That  _ Marcus could also attest to, as he was quite content with the idea of Amelia staying away from the boys until she was at least thirty. Perhaps longer than that if he could help it. “She’s far too young for that,” Weasley said, briskly. “Never mind the fact that she needs to focus on her studies.” 

“And less fighting, right?” Wood was grinning broadly now. 

“I swear, I don’t know where that girl gets her anger from,” Weasley shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Weasley frowned. 

Marcus was beginning to enjoy their bickering. It was entertaining, after all. 

“Oh, please, Perce. I remember when you used to blow up at me.” 

Weasley blushed. “I never blew up at you. I just-” 

“Blew a gasket? Erupted in a fit of rage? Lost your temper? Went berserk?” Wood’s eyes were gleaming with amusement. 

“No,” Weasley said, primly. “But I wouldn’t have gotten upset had you not been so...well.... _ you _ .” 

Wood raised his eyebrows. “So  _ me _ ?” 

“Might have to agree with Weasley, Wood,” Marcus smirked. 

“Oliver, you took over the  _ entire  _ dorm, putting your quidditch papers everywhere. I could hardly walk. And let’s not forget your early morning practices; you woke me everytime because of your horrid singing!” 

Marcus burst out laughing. 

Wood flushed. “I wasn’t singing!” 

“You’re right about that. It was terribly off key.” 

“Oh, Merlin. I would’ve loved to see that,” Marcus grinned. 

“Shut up,” Wood groaned, looking obviously embarrassed. 

“You know he also talks in his sleep?” Weasley snickered. 

“Quiddich?” Marcus snorted. 

“ _ Definitely _ quidditch.” 

Wood was grumbling under his breath. “I’m  _ right here _ .” 

“So you are,” Weasley agreed. 

“Stop picking on me,” Wood whined. “I feel mistreated.” 

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that, would we, Marcus?” Weasley-- _ Percy _ asked with oversaturated sympathy in his voice. 

“Definitely not.” 

“I hate you both,” Oliver glared, to which they laughed. 

It was going to take a bit of time before they became better friends to each other. But that afternoon, Marcus was oddly surprised to find just how much he enjoyed being in their company. 

Later on, as they apparated back to their house, Amelia chirped that she had a lot of fun. 

And he agreed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never right? heh, yeah so I hope you guys enjoyed this! As always, don't hesitate to comment a request!

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda have this headcanon that Oliver, Percy and Marcus are all single dad's for different reaaons 
> 
> Anyway, should I write one more chapter where Amelia (and Marcus, too, obviously) goes over to Oliver or Percy's house (or where they're both over) and Marcus has a talk with one or both of them and they come to an understanding?? 
> 
> Or should I just leave it as is? 
> 
> And as always, if you have any oneshot requests, comment!


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